


Since Can’t Remember When

by fangirl_squee



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Thrilling Adventure Hour
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 15:05:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3330377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_squee/pseuds/fangirl_squee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The winter soldier pieces things together. The Winter Soldier!Frank pov sequel to/continuation of 'It's Been a Long Long Time'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Since Can’t Remember When

**Author's Note:**

> I mean, how could I do a CA2 fic and /not/ do the "but I knew him" scene? Special thanks to Maddie for looking things over/getting multiple messages from me about this.

"The woman on the bridge," he said, frowning at the plain concrete walls, "Who was she?"

 

Pierce crouched to speak to him, so their eyes were level. “You met her earlier this week on another assignment.”

 

He could picture the woman in his head. She looked different in his mind than in the photographs he'd been given to study, different even than when he'd seen her on the bridge. Smaller somehow, and smiling, wearing a long dress that wasn't like anything she was wearing in the photos he had.

 

Not her favourite gown, but he thought she looked as lovely as ever. He curled his hand into a fist, remembering the silken feeling of the material. But that wasn't right. How could he have ...?

 

“I knew her.”

 

And another memory, where she was taller, standing stark against snow in an older-style red, white, and blue uniform, looking over a map and looking far more serious than she should ever had to. He should never have let her talk him into this, it was way too risky, he should have -

 

Pierce was still speaking - freedom and HYDRA and the role they each had to play. It was hard to concentrate on what Pierce was saying when he had visions of the woman on the bridge in his head. They seemed so bright.

 

Pierce called what the Winter Soldier did a gift. The winter soldier himself had the strangest urge to laugh at that.

 

He gave Pierce an unsteady smile instead. "But I knew her."

 

Pierce's face clouded over and the winter soldier’s body tensed in response. He knew what was coming.

 

"Wipe him."

  
  
  


After everything was all over, he knew he couldn’t go back to whatever was left of HYDRA.

 

He’d _more_ than failed his mission, he’d prevented it from being completed. He’d dragged Captain America from the water and waited until she almost came back to consciousness, making sure she was going to be okay. He’d crouched on the riverbank, holding her hand as he watched her breathing steady itself. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so relieved.

 

He couldn’t remember a lot of things, now that he thought about it.

 

He knew things, sure. The exact force needed to break a bone, or how to use the wind to his advantage when using a sniper rifle, or how Sadie had given out signed Captain America posters when she’d visit soldiers in hospital. But he couldn’t remember how he’d come to know them.

 

He holed up in whatever shelter he could find, pulling together a disguise from stolen clothes. He wasn’t used to being awake so long when not a on a mission. He wasn’t used to not being on a mission, _period_. He’d always been on a mission. But that couldn’t be right. Everyone came from somewhere. Even the winter soldier had to have come from _somewhere_.

 

When he couldn’t stay awake any longer, he slept. And with sleep, came the dreams.

 

First came the dreams about the chair where he’d started and ended his missions. When he woke up from them, his arm ached. Those dreams weren’t pleasant, but they made sense.

 

Then, he had dreams about falling. These felt less like dreams and more like memories. Falling and falling and falling and falling.

 

He would have been able to shake them off easily as a memory of the helicarrier, but there was snow. In his dreams instead of Captain America falling, semi-conscious, towards the water, it was _him_ falling away from her as she reached for him. She was yelling something, but he couldn’t hear her over the wind.

 

Even more confusing were the dreams that didn’t hurt.

 

Smokey bars and a much smoother version of his own voice saying "the lady said to leave her alone". The woman from the bridge, small in his dream, and he felt so fiercely protective of her, smiling up at him and saying "I could have taken him darling, you really didn't need to bother yourself", her tone chiding and fondly exasperated.

 

He has dreams where she takes his hand and leans against him as they walk, and when he wakes up he has the phantom feeling of it in his metal arm, like it’s missing her. But Sadie Doyle has certainly never done any of those things, not with the winter soldier. It has to be the dreams, confusing the circuits in his arm.

 

It’s still frustrating though, because Sadie Doyle was _very_ real. She’s on the news, and on the cover of a dozen magazines and newspapers when he passes by newsstands. There was a whole museum wing dedicated to her. He still has the battered HYDRA mission briefing hidden inside the lining of his stolen jacket, with all sort of real, verifiable facts about her - age, height, most used fighting characteristics.

 

But the file doesn’t account for how he also knows her liquor preference, or they way she arranged her hair before bed, or how he could tell the difference between her forced smile on a daytime talk show and her more genuine one, candidly caught by someone’s instagram. And it certainly didn’t account for the strange, tight feeling in his chest at the sight of the latter.

  


Wandering around at night, avoiding sleep, he caught sight of her on tv through a store window. A late-night reshowing of the day’s news, with Captain America helping to publicise some school holiday event at her particular wing of a museum. He can’t hear the sounds through the glass, but the kids looked _ecstatic_ to see her, and Sadie’s doing her best to look as happy.

 

He stays at the window, long after the news moves on to another story, trying to get his breath back. It feels like Sadie’s face is imprinted onto his eyelids.

  


There are posters for the Captain America museum exhibit everywhere. Something _tugs_ at his memories every time he sees, like he’s _almost_ got it figured out. It feels like he permanently has the word he was thinking of right on the tip of his tongue, but it slips away at the last moment.

 

Eventually, he figures has has to go to the museum exhibit, if only to cross it off his mental list of ‘ways to figure out how he knows what he knows’. Maybe he was near her, during some mission he doesn’t remember. Maybe.

 

The exhibit has been open for months, but it’s still packed when he gets there despite it being a weekday. It’s easy enough to slip in amongst the crowds, his stolen cap pulled low to hide from the security cameras.

 

Most of the old photographs and memorabilia have the same effect as the posters did, a frustrating and unhelpful almost-memory. It all seems so _familiar_ , but he can’t place any of it for sure. He curls his hands into fists in his pockets and grits his teeth. What a waste of time.

 

And then he gets to the wing dedicated to Sadie Doyle herself. He stops to look at the life-sized models of pre-and-post serum Sadie. The blurb next to it is all general knowledge stuff - birthdate, date she underwent the serum, date of disappearance, and (his heart skips a beat) date of reappearance.

 

He moves slowly through the rest of the room, until he gets to a wall titled _Married Life_. There’s a collage of photos and copies of old newspaper articles, the tiny, pre-serum Sadie beaming up at a mustached man, who’s looking at her as if she’s his whole world.

 

He frowns at the photos. He almost recognises something about it. Perhaps he’s seen the same photo from a different angle.

 

Underneath that is a small blurb on Frank Doyle himself.

 

_Since their marriage a short time after meeting, Frank and Sadie Doyle were inseparable both in high society and on the battlefield. Frank Doyle is the only howling commando to give his life in service of this country._

 

It’s not so much to text that catches his eye, it’s his own reflection side by side with a close up of Frank Doyle in uniform. Frank Doyle is clean shaven and smiling at something off camera, but otherwise it’s like looking into a mirror.

 

He leaves in a daze, walking around the city aimlessly as the day passes around him. Every time he catches sight of his own reflection he thinks he sees Frank Doyle.

 

The a cold night, and there’s a bar sign glowing up ahead. It’s enough of a hole in the wall that the hipsters haven’t gotten to it yet, and no one gives his appearance a second look.

 

On the crappy tv behind the bar, Captain America is being interviewed on a late night talk show. He orders cheap whiskey and nurses even though he desperately wants to down the whole thing in one go. For the moment, he needs to stay where he can see Sadie, even if the sight of her forced smile makes his stomach turn over.

 

“So, to get serious for a moment,” says the interviewer, “there’s been a lot of talk about whether you’ll revert to your maiden name. Is that something you’ve made a decision on?”

 

Sadie hesitates. “I have heard that there’s been a lot of discussion about it, but it’s not really something I think about changing. I still feel very married.”

 

His heart clenches at Sadie’s expression.

 

“‘S a shame,” slurs the man on the stool next to him.

 

Frank keeps his eyes fixed on the interview, ignoring him.

 

“I _said_ , it’s a shame,” says the man, louder.

 

“What is?” said Frank.

 

“That a woman like that still thinks she’s married,” said the man, “I bet I could make her forget about her husband.”

 

He’s on his feet before he even registers the movement. “That’s my _wife_ you’re talking about!”

 

The man just laughs. “Your wife? Buddy, you look even worse than I do.” He turns to the bartender, gesturing wildly. “Hey, get a load of this guy, he thinks he’s married to Captain America!”

 

The bartender ignores them both. The man on the next barstool doesn’t seem fazed by his lack of audience, poking him in the chest.

 

“You got about as much chance of being Mr Captain America as I do.”

 

There’s another memory in his head, giving everything a hazy overlay of a different bar and a different drunk. His reaction is the same now as it was then - he punches the guy as hard as he can. Even though he’s not using his metal arm, it still throws the other guy backwards, his head hitting a neighbouring barstool on the way down.

 

This the bartender doesn’t ignore, signalling to the bouncer. He ducks under the bouncer’s arm and heads out the door at a run. As he looks over his shoulder, he can see the bouncer helping the guy to his feet.

 

He slows to a walk after a couple of blocks. His hand throbs, and he rubs his fingertips over the knuckles. The cool metal soothes it a little.

 

It jolts something in his mind, bringing up wisps of antiseptic-scented memories of delicate hands carefully cleaning the scrapes on his knuckles, and a voice sighing “I really wish you’d be more careful darling, I’m rather fond of your hands. And the rest of you, for that matter.”

 

It was the voice of the woman from the bridge. Captain America. Sadie Doyle.

 

He’d called Captain America his wife. In the moment, that had felt like a true, solid fact. But that would make him ...

 

He looked at his reflection in a darkened store window, studying his scruffy face and tattered clothes. What would he look like, if he had a moustache? For a moment, in his mind’s eye, he had an image of himself in Frank’s wedding suit.

 

“Frank Doyle,” he whispered.

 

The image faded, and he shook off the thought, scrubbing a hand over his face. He’d go back to the museum tomorrow and look at the exhibition again.

  


That night he dreamt of falling again. The sound of the train and the wind rushed loud in his ears. He strained to hear what Sadie was saying.

 

“-ank, take my hand!”

 

He reached, and slipped.

 

“ _FRANK_!”

 

He snapped awake, Sadie’s words ringing in his ears.

 

His arm _ached_.

  


The museum was even more crowded than as the day before, full of families on weekend visits, couples on dates, and Captain America fans in various states of cosplay. There was even a line to get in to the exhibit, and it soon became clear why - Captain America herself was there, patiently signing autographs next to the life sized models of herself.

 

Everything around him was a blur apart from Sadie. He wanted to melt away into the crowd. He wanted to run towards her. He couldn’t breathe, putting one hand on the wall for support, the person behind him in line stumbling into him.

 

The movement must have caught her eye. As soon as she saw him, she changed - her body going tense and the semi-forced smile slipping away. His chest felt tight.

 

She made a movement with her hand out of sight of her companions - around the corner, five minutes (and how did he know that, how did he).

 

He should just leave. He definitely shouldn't follow her orders into what could be a trap. He should leave, get out of the city even. Instead, he waited for her around the corner, fidgeting and counting down.

 

One minute. He should just walk away.

 

Two minutes. It didn’t matter what sort of answers she could give, this could be a trap.

 

Three minutes. He thought of her on the falling helicarrier. Falling away from him.

 

Four minutes. “ _I’m with you to the final drink_.”

 

Five minutes. His heart pounded so loudly, it was a wonder the crowd didn’t turn towards him.

 

Six minutes. He should leave, she wasn’t coming, he needed to get out of here -

 

Just as he turned to leave, Sadie rushed around the corner, pulling him into the fire escape corridor.

 

“Sorry darling, someone spotted me on my here and wanted an autograph and I couldn’t get away -”

 

It pulls at a thread of a memory - _perfectly all right dear,we can always make another reservation, or better yet we could just go home and have dessert instead_ , said the smooth voice in his head.

 

He managed to stop it from coming out his mouth, but it was a near thing. He clenched his jaw, a preventative measure.

 

She looked him over, her hands on both his shoulders. He had to look up to meet her gaze. It fitted with his memories, and didn’t, at the same time.

 

She looked at him like she expectantly. He didn’t know what to say, so he reached up to cover her hands instead. She didn’t flinch at the touch of metal, instead, her body relaxed slightly into his touch.

 

"Frank, where have you been? I was so worried."

 

“I don’t know who Frank is,” he said. He voice sounded a lot more steady than he felt.

 

Her face fell. “Oh.”

 

“I think I have his dreams though.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “You’re there.”

 

“I am?”

 

“Sometimes you look different,” he said, hesitantly, “Smaller.”

 

Sadie nodded. “What else happens in your dreams?”

 

“We’re together, and then I fall.”

 

“I have dreams like that too.”

 

She looked like she was about to cry and he wanted _desperately_ to stop that. He tried to think of something, _anything_ , to say, but his dreams haven’t been exactly pleasant. Even when he woke up, his arm felt - _oh_. His arm.

 

“I think my arm remembers you. After I have a dream it … _hurts_.”

 

He opened his jacket and pulled at the next of his shirt so she could see where the metal is fused with his skin. It feels easier than trying to explain it.

 

Sadie brushed her thumb along the edge of the metal. He shivered.

 

A group of kids walked past, sending a burst of chatter echoing in the corridor where he and Sadie were standing. He flinched.

 

“Darling, why don’t we go somewhere else to talk?” said Sadie. “I have a little apartment, near to where we used to live.”

 

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

 

He stayed silent as the two of them took the long way out, avoiding crowds and they headed towards a staff-only exit. Sadie held his hand the whole way, squeezing it gently when they passed by large groups. She kept holding his hand, even as they walked further and further away from the museum, even as she hailed a taxi and the two of them got inside.

 

“Hey,” said the taxi driver, “aren’t you Captain America?”

 

“Me? Oh no.” Sadie laughed. “I do get that said to me quite a lot. I’m sure it’s very flattering.”

 

The cab dropped them off in front of an old brownstone.

 

“I tried living at the Plaza, but it felt -” Sadie took a steadying breath, “it was too large a place for just me.”

 

This time, he squeezed her hand in encouragement. Sadie beamed at him, and something warm uncurled in his chest at the sight of it.

 

It wasn’t until Sadie let them both in and guided him towards the couch that she finally let go of his hand. He felt tense without the physical contact to ground him.

 

“You make yourself comfortable darling, and I’ll fix us both a drink,” said Sadie, “I can’t really get drunk now, but PJ says he’s working on some sort of chemically advanced liquor that might do _something_ , so I suppose there’s always hope for the future.”

 

He hummed in response. His eyes darted about the room, trying to taking in everything, even as his gaze was drawn back to Sadie. She sat down next to him, and he could feel himself relax immediately. It was as though his body knew something he didn’t, classifying her as _protection_ rather than _threat_.

 

She handed him a glass, and they clinked them together.

 

He inhaled sharply. The gentle _clink_ of the glasses echoed a thousand times in his head, and behind the sound was Sadie. Sadie, small and frail and so _fierce_. Sadie, strong and towering over him, saving a thousand men on her way to look for him. Sadie on their wedding day, making him so happy his heart felt as though at any moment it would burst from his chest.

 

Sadie, who was currently looking at him with concern, her liquor untouched.

 

"I don't know who I am exactly," he said slowly, "but I think I might know you."

 

Sadie put one hand on the side of his face, and he leant into the warmth of it.

 

“Your name is Frank Doyle, and you are my husband,” said Sadie, “and I would very much like to kiss you now, if that’s all right.”

 

Frank nodded. It was very much all right.

  
  
It felt like coming home, at last.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi: mariusperkins.tumblr.com


End file.
